


Dear John

by neichan



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neichan/pseuds/neichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony DiNozzo had felt a connection to the man. They might have been friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear John

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joan Z](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Joan+Z).



> There are two versions of this fic. This is the one where the man Tony is working with is shot and ultimately dies. Tony doesn't often feel this kind of connection with other people. He feels cheated when John dies after they've known each other for such a few number of hours. Based on the NCIS episode Friends and Lovers.

@@@@@@@@@@@@ @@@@@@@@@ @

Tony groaned when he woke, managing to open one red, bloodshot eye and  
squint around his bedroom.

Empty. She had already left for her morning shift. He hated it when  
she did that, left without waking him. He hadn't worked up the guts to  
tell her how much it bugged him yet, he nevertheless harbored an  
unreasonable resentment that she hadn't somehow ~known~.

Really, he shouldn't have been all that surprised. He hadn't been a  
sound sleeper at the best of times, not since he'd been in grade  
school and, lucky him, discovered the wonderful world of nightmares,  
but last night had been really bad. Far worse than usual. Because it  
was real. It had happened.

He rarely had nightmares when he slept with someone. Anyone. In fact  
when he started to have them he took it for a signal the relationship  
was on it's way out. He hoped he was wrong this time. He...almost  
loved Jeanne. But...he'd had a nightmare. With her in the bed next to  
him. That wasn't good.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw the face of the dying man. The  
face of the man who was trying to tell him something. It was on the  
tip of John's tongue, and Tony was leaning down, listening when he saw  
the light go out of the other man's eyes. And with it left whatever he  
was trying to say. All that was left, a body sprawled like a broken  
doll.

Tony remembered how it felt, a gout of blood spewing out of the wound,  
welling up between his fingers, out over his hands, running onto the  
ground. The last sigh of breath leaving. Then the prickle of something  
indefinable, something electric, traveling up his hands and into his  
arms. Something not...normal. He'd had people die on him before.  
People he cared about and people he didn't give a shit about. The  
electric shock-y thing...wasn' t normal.

Tony had woken up out of a sound sleep last night, seeing John there,  
right in front of him, close enough to touch. He'd reached out, his  
fingers extended, straining for a last inch beyond, needing to touch  
Carson and when he was that close, when he was almost touching the  
dark hair, the wet cheek, the bloody chest, John began to fade, like  
threads of mist evaporating.

Tony called out John's name. Over and over again. Jeanne, awakened by  
the noise Tony was making, had held him, soothed him. Murmuring to him  
that she was there.

Each time Tony had puzzled over it, what did she mean she was there?  
She wasn't there, it was Tony...and it was John. Bleeding out. Dying,  
out of reach. No matter how Tony called for him, asking him to stay,  
John died.

Tony lifted his hands and pressed the heels of his palms over his  
eyes, kicking his feet hard into the mattress, jolting it, punctuating  
each of the three words. "God. Damn. It!"

Now he understood, figured it out. It was the french pronunciation of  
Jeanne. John. Jeanne. John. She had thought Tony was calling ~her~. It  
made sense now. Tony hated it. Hated that she thought he was calling  
out for her. Hated her taking what belonged to John. She was taking  
what had been ~his~, John's.

And she had left without saying goodbye.

He sighed. It wasn't fair of him to be mad about that, especially  
considering that it was usually he who was called out in the middle of  
a date. Called away out of the bed they were sharing. Diverted when he  
was on the way to meet her by a new case. She had let him make all his  
apologies and forgiven him. So why did he still feel the sharp green  
sprout of resentment growing in his own breast?

Enough of the self-indulgent crap. He was being a jerk.

He yawned, pushed up off of the bed, and went in search of coffee.  
Then halfway across the bedroom changed his destination and went into  
the bathroom. Standing in front of the commode, listening absently to  
the churning, bubbling sound of his urine hitting the water, he  
grimaced. Last night had been a bitch.

He'd really cared about Carson. Feeling an odd camaraderie with the  
man. As if they shared more than a few hours of acquaintance. If  
things had been different they could have ended up friends. Maybe....  
Tony was surprised at how painful the thought was. John was one of the  
rare people Tony actually wanted to get to know better. Now he was  
gone.

He'd had to watch the man's life fade out of his eyes. Out of  
those...beautiful eyes. Eyes that had telegraphed so much emotion  
while they were in the trailer together. Christ.

OK, that was weird, because when did Tony DiNozzo admit a man had  
beautiful eyes? Well aside from Gibbs. And he hadn't said it loud  
enough for anyone to hear it, he wasn't crazy. So that didn't count,  
did it?

Tony jerked up his pajamas, stepped over to the sink and washed his  
hands, the movements rough, rushed. He dried them, refusing to look  
into the mirror over the sink and see the freaked out look in his own  
eyes.

He headed out to the kitchen. Coffee. Caffeine. The pot was a third  
full, a note from Jeanne propped up on the counter next to it.

Tony let his eyes skim past the note, turned it over, hiding the  
words. Not that he needed to, she really did write like a doctor.  
Illegible. He'd read it later, if he could. Not now.

He poured. Sipped. Damn she made good coffee. Not even Gibbs would  
turn his nose up at it. Tony had no idea what made her brew better  
than his own. The same pot, the same grounds, the same water. Hers  
just tasted ten times better. If he had any smarts at all, he'd marry  
her for her coffee.

He lunged for the sink.

Two minutes later he was done. Strings of saliva hanging from his  
mouth. Gingerly he turned on the tap, letting the water run cool,  
rinsed out his mouth and washed his face, drying it on a wad of paper  
towels.

He poured the rest of the pot down the sink.

Sitting in front of the computer he turned it on, waiting for it to  
warm up. He typed, then frowned. There was a new jpg file. He hadn't  
downloaded anything new. If Abby or McGee had sent it to him it would  
have been in an email, not downloaded. The hair on the back of his  
neck stood up as ghostly fingers touched his nape. He had a bad  
feeling about it.

Bad feeling or not, he clicked on the new icon. Then he sat back and  
watched the screen fill. Confusion hit him like a bat between the  
legs. He grunted, knees slamming shut. What the hell?

John's face filled his screen, Tony couldn't tear his eyes away.  
John...the ache in his chest grew, nearly overwhelming. He reached  
out, touched the screen with trembling fingertips. Oh, god, John.

The smell of the alley, of blood assailed him. The feel of all that  
blood pouring out over his hands as he tried to hold it inside the man  
who lay sprawled over the filthy ground.

"Hold on." Loudly so John could hear." Then more quietly. "Don't  
leave...." Tony heard himself say, and unsaid..."me. " Which made no  
sense at all.

"Don't leave me." Tony said out loud. And again. "Don't leave me."  
He'd wanted the chance to know John Carson better. He'd wanted to  
understand the man who could look at him like that. He wanted to know  
what that crackle between them could be. Might have been.

A picture of John. John's ghost? On his computer. Abby would think it  
was cool, but what he wanted to know was how had it gotten there? It  
wasn't until then he saw that there was another person in the picture.  
A woman. Tony stared at her face, unable to comprehend. Stared. Trying  
to add things up. Trying to...

Oh. God. No. NO. Jeanne and John. Benoit and Carson. John, talking  
about his love, the one who got away, looking at Tony, all the  
feelings trapped in his eyes. All the pain. As he looked at Tony, as  
that indefinable something passed between them. John had loved Benoit.  
John had known, somehow that Tony was with her, the women he'd loved.

Tony bent over and gripped his stomach. There was nothing left inside  
to come out, but he gagged, trying to throw up any way. Over and over.  
Heaving.

Shit. He lowered himself to the floor, his head so floaty he knew he'd  
pass out if he stayed upright. He curled himself onto his side, both  
arms wrapped around his body.

neichan


End file.
